Losing
by sams1ra
Summary: John came very close to losing his children more than once. Another young SamDean story. Last chapter is finally up! Enjoy and review!
1. The bad man

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still don't own them. Pretty much broke, so no point in suing.

A/N: Well, I still hate John, but I figured he must have done something right to get those two boys, so I'm trying to get in his shoes for a moment. Another young Sam/Dean story, mostly John's POV. Reviews make me write faster...

Losing

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter one: The bad man

John remembered the first time he drank enough to pass out. After the military, that is. Losing Mary hurt like hell. He couldn't stand the pain of losing her. He had no idea what he would do without her, and soon became obsessed with avenging her death. He still had no idea who, or what, had killed her, but he was determined to find out, and seek retribution.

He was finally making some progress. That psychic woman, Missouri, she wasn't like the others. She knew what was out there, and she tried to help. Other people tried too, of course, but none of them really did. They all seemed content that Mary simply died in a fire caused by faulty wiring. They all did their best to ignore his side of the story. He hated the way they looked at him, but it didn't matter. He knew he had promised to love until death did them part, but he wasn't ready to let Mary go just yet. Not like that. No way.

John returned to Mike's house after another visit so Missouri to see Kate holding little Sammy in her arms, looking very worried.

"John, you really have to talk to your son." She said, a little uneasily. John nodded lightly. Dean was acting… well, not like the little boy he used to know. He used to talk incessantly, but not anymore, not since Mary… Dean didn't cry. Honestly, John wasn't so sure Dean understood what had happened. He kept tugging at Kate's dress at the funeral, asking when they could leave and telling her he didn't like being there. He put his hands over his ears when she told him they were saying goodbye to mommy, and wouldn't talk to her again for days.

"Where is he?" John asked. Kate tilted her head a little and John nodded, heading in that direction. He admired Kate a little. Mary always kept the house sparkling, but Kate wasn't used to having three more people in the house, and Sammy still hadn't slept a night through. Nevertheless, the house seemed spotless.

Dean sat on the floor in the guest room, flipping through the pages of 'The Cat in the Hat', reading it up loud even though he couldn't read yet. John stood at the door, smiling at hearing his son mess up the rhymes. That was the book of the month. Dean had insisted they would read it to him every night before he went to bed.

The boy must have had eyes in the back of his head, because a moment later he stopped talking again, turning his head to look at his father. Dean closed the book, coming to his feet and stuffing the book under the bed. John smiled at him.

"Hi there, sport. What are you doing?" he asked, noticing Dean was wearing his best clothes. Well, the best ones he had managed to scavenge out of what was left of his house.

"The house is really clean, isn't it?" Dean asked.

"Yes, it is." John agreed. "Did you help aunt Kate clean up?" Dean took his hand, leading him through the house, through each and every room.

"It's all clean. Just like mommy likes, right?" Dean asked, looking up at John. John sighed, picking him up in his arms.

"Yeah, kiddo. Mom would have liked it." He said.

"Then she can come back now, right?" Dean asked innocently, looking hopefully at his dad. "I'll be good, I promise. I won't leave my toys lying around anymore, just make mommy come back." He pleaded and John's eyes watered. He held his son to him, giving him a strong hug and putting him back down.

"I wish I could, Dean." John said solemnly. "But mommy isn't coming back."

"But I won't be bad anymore, I promise! I'll do anything you say!" Dean pleaded, and John couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the thought of Mary never coming back. He couldn't take the thought his four year old son thought it was his fault somehow. He couldn't stand the thought of his boys growing up without their mother there to see them. He kissed the top of Dean's head and started to leave in search for a drink.

"Is it because of the bad man?" Dean's question made him stop dead. He turned.

"What bad man?" John asked.

"The bad man that was in my room." Dean explained. "He looked kindo' funny. He woke me up, and I got scared, so he read me a story and told me to be very quiet. He said he was going to play with Sammy, so that Sammy won't cry, and that after that he would come back for me." John's heart raced. His entire body shook. There was someone _there_? In his _house_? With his _kids_? His knees buckled and he stumbled.

"Did mommy go with the bad man?" Dean asked in a tiny, sad voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?" John wanted to scream, but his voice came out sounding more like a hiss. Dean looked at him.

"Because he said I couldn't." he explained. "He said he would be back, and that if I woke you and mommy up you would be angry." Dean looked up at John, waiting for his father to say something, but John couldn't think of anything to say. It was all too big of a shock for him. "He's going to come back, you know." Dean went on a moment later. "He promised. You can't go back on a promise."

That was the first time in a long time John had drank until he had passed out. The day after that he took his boys and ran.

TBC


	2. Good intentions Part One

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter two: Good intentions

"Daddy, wake up!" Sam rocked him, and John groaned. He was so tired. "Daddy, get up! I need you to write me a note for school." Sam insisted. John groaned again. That kid was way too psyched about school. It just wasn't normal. Now, Dean was never that much trouble when he had started school, but Sammy…

"What'd you need a note for anyway?" John demanded groggily, his eyes still firmly closed.

"Because I'm late for school, and Ms. Sophie said we had to get a note if we're going to be late." Sam said, referring to his first grade teacher. John forced one eye to open and glanced at his watch.

"If you get your ass to school right now, maybe you won't be late. Where's your brother, anyway?" John sighed, turning to look at his six year old son.

"Dean won't wake up." Sam said. That kid just loved telling on his brother. He would have to have a little talk with him someday. For now, he liked knowing what his sons were up to.

"Then go over there and tell him to get his ass out of bed and go to school." John said gruffly, rearranging his pillow. "Tell him I say it's an order." He added before he went back to sleep. He barely got the pillow all nice and comfortable when Sam started poking him again.

"Daddy, I told him what you said, but he still won't wake up! I'll be late for school!" Sam pouted. John let out a long sigh. It was obvious Sam wasn't about to let him go back to sleep. He sat up, trying to get his bearings together, and pulled his jeans on. Sam waited impatiently at the door to the boys' room. John scratched his week's growth of bristles, making his way to his sons' room.

"Dean, wake up, kiddo. Time for school." John said tiredly but assertively. Dean didn't move, not even giving an indication that he had heard his father. John neared his bed. "Come on, sport. I really don't care if you have a test today, you need…" the words got stuck in John's throat. Something was wrong. He didn't like the way Dean looked. Sitting on the edge of his Dean's bed, John felt for his son's forehead. His look shot to his youngest.

"Sammy, go to the bathroom and turn the cold water on all the way. Now, Sammy, go!" he ordered. Dean was burning up. He was soaked in sweat. John slapped his red cheeks gently, trying to get Dean to open his eyes, but it didn't work. He could hear the water running in the shower and quickly scooped his ten year old son off the bed and carried him to the shower, dropping him in with his pajama still on. John hoped that the water would wake Dean up, help lower the fever, but Dean still didn't wake up.

"Dad, why is Dean taking a shower with his clothes on?" Sam asked. It didn't seem right. Remembering his youngest, John stood up.

"Sammy, come here." He said and Sam came over. John knelt down beside him so he could look the boy in the eye. "I want you to watch over your brother. Stay right here with him, do you understand?" John asked urgently. Sam nodded lightly, a little frightened by his father's reaction. "I'm going to get some ice from the machine," John explained, "If anything, _anything_ happens, call out for me, do you understand?" John demanded, and Sam nodded again, now more than a little frightened.

John rushed outside, grabbing the small complementary ice bucket on his way out to get the ice. John cursed at the small amount of ice the bucket actually held. He rushed back to the motel room, getting quickly in the shower. Dean still showed no sign of coming to. He slapped his son's cheeks again, a little stronger this time, but with the same result. The cold water helped lower his son's fever, but not by much. Dean lay unconscious against the shower tiles, his head drooped to the side. John dumped the ice under Dean's shirt and went to get more. He stopped at the door, and rushed to the couch he used as a bed instead, ripping his pillow out of its case. The pillow case would carry a hell of a lot more ice than the ice bucket. John filled it all the way up with ice, rushing back to his son's side. Sam seemed scared, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching with unusual silence as his father showered his brother with ice.

"Daddy, won't Dean get a cold?" Sam asked. John had always told him not to shower in cold water and go outside or he would get a cold. Why was he doing it to Dean now? But his father paid no attention to him. And he was definitely late for school now.

Fifteen minutes later, when John still couldn't make Dean wake up, he wrapped him up in a towel and carried him over to his truck, Sam at his heel. John ran four red lights on his way to the hospital.

John paced back and forth, biting his nails nervously. The doctors had been in Dean's room for quite a while now, and so far, no one had come out to talk to him, to explain to him what was wrong with his boy.

"Daddy?" John stopped his pacing. Sam looked fearfully at him, sitting on the uncomfortable chair where John had told him to wait. Clenching his jaws, John sat down next to his youngest, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam rested his head against his dad. He didn't really understand what was going on, but he didn't like being in a hospital. He hated the smell, he hated that look in his dad's eyes, and he hated that Dean wasn't there to joke with him and make him laugh and make everything okay, like he had always done.

A few nerve-wracking moments later, a seriously looking doctor came out of Dean's room. John quickly stood up, squeezing Sam's shoulder, and neared the doctor.

"Mister O'Connell, I noticed your son has some pretty nasty cuts on his stomach." The doctor started. John swallowed, nodding lightly. He was wrong to bring his sons with him on that hunt. He knew it then, but he couldn't find a place for them to stay. He was sure they were both asleep in his truck, or he never would have left them alone. But obviously, Dean got out. John got to him merely seconds before that thing ripped him apart.

"Well, you know how boys are," John forced a smile on his face, "always getting in fights."

"Mister O'Connell, I don't think you understand the gravity of your son's condition." The doctor said seriously. "Dean is not breathing on his own." The doctor said, and John nearly collapsed. "We had to put a tube down his throat, to help him breathe. Those cuts he has got contaminated." John was afraid of that. He taped Dean up quickly, and told him not to get the bandages off, hoping it would be enough. Dean had seemed a little off this past week, but it was flu season after all. "We gave him IV antibiotics and got his fever down." the doctor went on. "We just have to wait and see."

"But he's going to get better." John said, waiting for the doctor to confirm it. The doctor gave him a long look.

"I hope so." He said. That really wasn't the answer John was looking for.

"Can I see him now?" he asked. The doctor gave him a slight nod and walked away. Sam refused to get in Dean's room. He was too scared. He sat there patiently until John came out of Dean's room.

"Come on, sport. You must be hungry." John said in a husky voice. He was glad his son didn't see him cry, the boy seemed scared enough.

"I'm not." Sam said in a small voice. John crouched next to him.

"What is it, Sammy?" he asked, looking up at his son.

"Is Dean going to be okay?" Sam asked in a tiny voice. John smiled at him.

"Of course he is." He said, trying to convince himself as well as his younger son. "Now come on, it's nearly lunchtime, and if I remember correctly, you haven't even had breakfast today."

"I'm not hungry. I want to stay here." Sam said. John sighed, ruffling his son's hair lovingly.

"Dean would want you to eat." He said. Sam looked at him.

"Daddy, do you think Dean's hungry too?" he asked.

"No, they gave him something to eat. Come on. I'll get you anything you want." John promised, getting to his feet. Sam barely touched his meal. John hasn't, either.

By evening, Dean was awake and, on most part, alert. They took the tube out of his throat, but he was still hooked up to the IV. The color still hasn't returned to his face, but he still teased Sam about missing school.

The doctors gave him more tests. Many more tests. And John was getting nervous. He kept asking the doctors if there was something else wrong with his son, but got the feeling they didn't really feel like sharing. When Dean had asked for a burger, John knew it was time. Doctors had a pesky habit of asking too many questions, and he couldn't afford the hospital bill anyway. He signed his son out of the hospital, against medical advice, and took his boys back to the motel, stopping at a drive through and buying them all burgers. He let Dean stay in bed in the next couple of days. Actually, he had to force him to stay in bed. The kid just wouldn't lie still. John took that as a good sign. He had nearly lost his son, and this time, it was entirely his fault. No way are these boys coming on any more hunts with him. Not until they're old enough. Sitting on the edge on Dean's bed, he caressed his sleeping boy's hair and smiled at Sam who insisted to share the bed with Dean. He was going to protect his sons better from now on. They were all he had left from Mary.

TBC

A/N: This was supposed to be longer. Frankly, it's just the first half of the story, but I don't like making the chapters long, so I split this chapter in two. Waiting for your reviews to help me write the next part!


	3. Good intentions Part Two

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter three: Good intentions, part two

John drove Sam to school in the mornings, and came to pick him up when school was over. Other than that, he stayed close to Dean, trying to convince his son to stay in bed and keeping an eye on him. Dean finally relaxed and stopped complaining about staying in bed when John gave him some of his research to read.

It was four days after what John considered one of the scariest days in his life. He had just picked Sammy up from school. Normally, by this time, John would have considered moving on already. The job for which they came to this town had been completed. But this time, they would stay a little longer. Dean didn't argue even once today, and just stayed in bed. He started having a fever again, though it still wasn't high, and John was worried. He made a quick trip to the convenient store to buy some groceries and some chicken soup from the little Chinese place a few blocks down. Dean refused to eat, and John figured soup was the best compromise.

John nearly had a heart attack when he noticed their motel room door was open. He never kept it open, and the boys knew to always keep it locked. John saw the police car parked just outside the room, and pushed the pedal all the way, driving as fast as he could. He ran out of the car just in time to see a strange woman getting out of the room holding Sam's hand and leading him away. Sam seemed terrified. John reached for his gun, cursing himself when he remembered he had left it in the room.

"Get your hands off him! Who the hell are you? Get away from my son!" John yelled, running for Sam, who cried out for him. But the woman held Sam's hand firmly, leading him towards another car parked behind the police car. "Where do you think you're going with him? Let him go!" John demanded.

"Mister Winchester?" it was a cop.

"That woman's trying to take my son!" John yelled at him.

"No, sir." The cop said calmly. "That woman _is_ taking your son. Both of them, actually." He said, slapping some papers into John's hand. John's heart was pounding. He looked at the papers in his hand. DCFS. Damn social services, there was no way they were taking his boys. No way in hell. He'd die before he'd see that happen.

Another man was coming out of the motel room, leading Dean by his shoulders. Dean didn't resist. From the glazed look in his eyes, John figured his fever must have shot up again. Sam was still crying for John, but for some reason, John just stood there. He wanted to launch in the room and come back out, guns blazing, and claim his sons back, but his feet wouldn't move.

"Mister Winchester? I am Lucy Tribeque, from social services." The woman who took Sam said, reaching her hand out for him to shake. He gave her a cold look.

"You're not taking my boys." He said icily.

"I'm afraid we've gotten a number of complaints about your children, Mister Winchester. We can't just do nothing about it. We have to do what's in the boys' best interest. I know you agree…"

"What's in the boys' best interest is to stay with me!" John roared at her, and the cop was quick to get between her and John. Lucy reached in her purse, taking a small card out and handing it to John.

"When you decide you want to talk like a reasonable man, you can call this number. Set up an appointment. Until then, Mister Winchester, you won't be allowed to see your sons." She said sternly. "I don't want to break a family apart, sir, believe me," She added at the ferocious look in John's eyes, "but the children come first. If you're prepared to admit your mistakes, maybe we could work something out." She said, and turned to the car. Sam was pounding on the window, crying for John to come and get them back.

No. He wasn't going to let some stranger just walk away with his sons. John ran for the car, but the policeman held him back, preventing him from reaching it in time. He watched, tears in his eyes, as the car drove away, with Sam still pounding on the window. And then the cop held him simply so he won't collapse to the ground.

* * *

John collapsed onto one of the kids' beds, his hands shaking. All their stuff was gone. There was nothing left. John couldn't stop the tears. With everything he had seen, everything that was out there, and everything he still didn't know about, this wasn't the way he had thought he would lose his boys. Not like this. Not because someone thought him an unfit father.

Hell, maybe he was. Maybe they were right. Maybe his boys would be better off without him. They would be safer, out of harm's way. Dean would go back to being a kid again, and Sammy would get to go to school. They will grow up, meet nice girls, have families of their own… They deserved it. That's the kind of life he and Mary had dreamt for them.

And then he remembered the scared look on Sammy's face as they took him away. Those boys knew what was out there. They counted on him. The way Sammy kept pounding on the window… John shook his head. No. They were safer with him. This life may be scary for them, it might force them to grow up too soon, but they _will_ be safe. They _will_ know what was out there. And they _will_ know how to protect themselves. Once they were old enough, strong enough to defend themselves against whatever was out there – then, if they wanted to leave, he would let them. But not now. Not yet. He wasn't ready to let them go just yet.

He pushed himself up from the bed. Now was not the time for self-pity. Now was the time for action. He was going to get his sons back. With shaking hands, he called the number the social service woman gave him and set up an appointment for later that day.

* * *

"Mister Winchester, I understand, I really do, but you have to see it from my point of view." The annoying case worker said, leaning forward in her seat. "It's a very good sign that you called me, even better that you made an appointment for today. It really shows me that you love your children."

"I do." John said quickly. "They're my entire world."

"But," the woman went on, "your older son… Dean." She had to look at her papers to find the name. John clenched his jaws, picturing himself tossing her across the room and getting his boys back. "He's attended… five different schools in four years, and in five different school districts. Now, that doesn't show much for the stability in your son's life."

"We move around a lot." John said quickly, "My job…"

"Yes, let's talk about that for a moment, Mister Winchester. What do you do for a living?" the woman asked, looking intently at him, crossing her hands on the table.

"I'm… in private investigating." John lied, figuring it sounded better then him being a hunter of the supernatural.

"Uh ha." The woman seemed less then impressed. "Would you mind bringing in some paychecks to back that up?" she said, "You see, we couldn't quite confirm that."

"I sure would!" John raised his voice. "It's none of your business how much I get paid! Rich people aren't the only ones who are allowed to have children! My sons have everything they need!"

"Mister Winchester, you live in a motel." The woman stared at him.

"Until we find something better." John snapped at her.

"Let me be frank, sir, and tell you what really worries me." The woman said, leaning back in her seat. John stared coldly at her. "You checked your son out of the hospital when he was still in serious need of medical attention. You didn't supply a convincing explanation as to the source of your son's injuries, or for the lack of a previous medical care." She said, "Not to mention you used a fake name." she paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction that never came, "But more importantly," she added just as John was about to speak, "You left two little boys, unattended, in a motel room, with loaded weapons lying around where they could get to." She finished in a harsh tone. "That, sir, is reason enough to place the kids in foster care, as far as I'm concerned."

* * *

"Daddy!" Sam practically jumped at him, hugging John as tightly as his little arms allowed. The boys shared a room with six other young boys, most of them Sam's age or younger. Dean was the oldest there. One of the caretakers told John that normally, Dean would have been in a room with boys his own age, but they didn't want the brothers to separate on their first night there. John was appalled by the thought the boys might be separated. Being away from him was bad enough. But it won't be for long. He picked Sam up in his arms.

"Hi, there, buddy. How are you doing?" he asked.

"You came to take us home? Can we go now?" Sam asked anxiously. John set him back down, glancing at Dean.

"Not quite yet, Sammy. But I'm working on it." He told his youngest as he made his way to his oldest. Dean was sleeping. John sat on the edge of his bed, checking for fever, and was relieved to find the fever gone once more. "They're treating you well in here?" John asked Sam.

"I want to go home." Sam said simply. "And Dean does, too." He added. John turned to his boy, stretching his arms out for Sam and sitting him on his knee.

"You did your homework?" John asked. Sam shook his head. "You did your workout?" John asked again, and this time, Sam nodded. John smiled. "That's my boy." He said proudly, noticing the case worker from the corner of his eye. He hugged Sam tightly. "I'm going to get you out of here, Sammy. You and your brother. Tonight. But it's a secret. You can't tell anyone. Can you do that for me, Sammy?" John asked.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

John returned to the motel, packing his things up and making sure his sons didn't leave anything behind. Sam forgot his toothbrush. Well, John felt 'forgot' was probably the wrong word for it, but he still stuffed it in his duffle bag. He got in his truck, made sure his nine millimeter was loaded, and started the car. He was going to get his sons back. Tonight. One way or the other.

John drove all night long, stopping for nothing. He glanced at the mirror and smiled at seeing Sam and Dean sleeping in the back seat. John hoped the kids will eventually forget what had almost happened. He was pretty sure Dean would, the boy barely knew where he was, but Sammy was still frightened. He kept asking John over and over again if the bad woman was coming for them again. John tried telling Sam it was just another job, that the woman was only taking care of them for a while as a favor, and that no one was never really taking them away. John hoped Sam believed that.

Much later the next day, when John just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore (and after making sure the state line was far behind them), John finally allowed himself to rest. He bought them all breakfast at a little diner, and was pleased by the fact that Dean seemed to have his appetite back. He allowed himself a short break, and then hit the road again, stopping a few hours later in another motel.

John had asked for a room with a very large bed. He wanted his sons close tonight.

John was sure he would fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, but for some reason, sleep didn't come so easily. He lay in bed, his hands around his boys, and listened to their soft breathing. He couldn't understand why Dean would always let Sam sleep in the same bed with him. The kid kept tossing, turning and kicking in his sleep, but for once, John enjoyed every second of it.

Unfortunately, Dean's recovery was short-lived. The next day, his fever shot up again, to the point where John had to carry him to the shower again. John knew Dean probably still needed the antibiotics, but taking him to a hospital again wasn't an option. Not now. He changed his son's dressings, making sure to disinfect the area with rubbing alcohol before taping Dean up again, and then started calling each and every one of his connections. He was getting desperate, but then one of his friends mentioned a doctor who lived not far from where John was, saying the doctor made house calls and kept quiet when needed. John quickly made the call, promising the doctor that money was not an issue.

The doctor arrived in the late afternoon. He doctor took a look at Dean's cuts, changed his dressings again, and gave John a prescription for antibiotics, mentioning the fact that there was a pharmacy not far from the motel.

John thanked the doctor, paying him with most of the money he had left, and then hesitated. He needed to get the medicine, but on the other hand, he was quite reluctant to leave the boys on their own. But Dean's fever won. Giving Sammy the .45, he ordered the boy to lock the doors and not let anyone in, making up a password so that Sammy would know it was him and won't shoot him by accident. Sam seemed very scared by the responsibility. It was Dean's job to take care of him, not the other way around, but he said nothing, and John couldn't have been more proud of him.

He was gone for only fifteen minutes. That's it. Maybe even less. But Sam wouldn't open the door. John tested the door and was relieved to find it still locked. He called out for Sam again, but Sam still didn't answer. Unlocking the door, John carefully got inside the room. It was ominously quiet. He called out for Sam, but again, Sam failed to answer. Walking over to the bedroom, he found both boys fast asleep, their arms around each other. Neither was asleep then he left, and neither was usually quick to fall asleep. Worried, John looked around the room, his hand quickly reaching for his shotgun, but there was nothing there. Sitting on the bed, John felt Dean's forehead. The boy had a very high fever just twenty minutes ago. The fever was now gone. In fact, both boys seemed perfectly healthy, but neither of the boys would wake up.

John's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might beat its way out of his chest. The boys weren't unconscious, they groaned and moaned when he tried to wake them up, and refused to listen to him, complaining they were tired.

John had a bad feeling about this. His hunter instincts told him something was wrong. He turned his EMF on. The readings were through the roof. John didn't even try to figure it out, didn't even look for the source of the readings. He packed up his kids and left.

The next morning, when his boys woke up, alert and a little confused, neither of them remembered a thing that had happened in the last couple of days.

But John did. He never forgot.

TBC

A/N: Just to be clear, what John had done in the story – not giving Dean the full course of antibiotics is wrong (!) and dangerous, because it creates bacterial resistance. So don't do that. (I know, I know…) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are always appreciated.


	4. A Hunt going wrong Part One

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Four: A hunt goes wrong – Part one

John flinched when he heard the shotgun going off. Once, twice, three times. His heart skipped a beat. _The boys_! Turning back on his tracks, he ran towards the sound of the shots, ducking tree branches as he ran, slipping from time to time, when the small gravel beneath his boots gave way.

They were hunting a creature that terrorized a small town. The people in town kept blaming the attacks on jackals, but John knew how to put two and two together, and jackals definitely didn't do that kind of damage. He had wanted to cover more ground before the sun set, so he and the boys split up. He thought he had sent them away from the tracks. Those gunshots told him he was wrong.

John cried out for Sam and Dean, but they didn't answer. His heart was pounding and he cursed himself for leaving the two alone. Sure, Dean was proving to be quite a skilled hunter, but he had Sammy with him. John cursed again. He could never really concentrate on a hunt when the children were near. He kept worrying about them instead of worrying about the danger ahead. He doubted Dean was any different, and quickened his pace.

Dean reminded him so much of his beloved Mary, it hurt to even look at him sometimes. The way he moved, his gestures and his gentleness reminded him of Mary. It hurt too much. John couldn't take it. So he molded his son into the soldier he now was, changing the way he moved, getting rid of most of the gestures and the tenderness, most of the things that reminded John so much of Mary. It was a little better, but on the other hand, he had lost another part of her. And another part of his son. Now all he had left was Sammy.

Sammy, that little chubby twelve-year-old that has yet decided if he liked hunting, or feared it. Sammy, who at the moment, was in great danger.

John cried out Dean's name, and then Sam's. He could see Dean not far from there, but couldn't see Sam anywhere. John rushed over to his son. Dean was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. The shotgun lied not far from him, but still, too far if he needed to protect himself. John picked the gun up before rushing to his son's side, checking for his pulse. He sighed in relief when he felt the strong pulse under his finger. It took John a mere second to wake Dean up, helping him to sit up and resting his back against a tree.

Dean had a bleeding wound to the side of his head, and John suspected he had the concussion to go with it. It took Dean a moment to get his bearings straight. He had to squint his eyes to get them to focus, leading John to suspect it wasn't such a minor concussion. He put his hand on his son's shoulder and asked him what happened. Dean struggled to think for a second. It surprised them, he said, it came from behind, and it was too fast and too quiet.

"Where's Sam, Dean?" John asked anxiously. Dean squinted at him for a moment, and then sprung to his feet, nearly falling down again. John supported him. "Which way, Dean? Which way did it take him?" Dean looked around, stabilizing himself against his father, and John saw fear in his eyes. And then Dean sprung away from him, half-running, half-stumbling, following a trail that even John was having a hard time keeping up. Somewhere, behind the fear for Sam, the guilt of leaving his sons alone and the need to focus on the task ahead, John was extremely proud of his sixteen year old son.

And then he saw it; saw where the trail was leading them to. A cave, just by the lake. It was hidden by all the trees, but Dean had spotted it, and now John did, too. John felt another surge of pride fill his chest. That boy was turning into quite a hunter. He told Dean to stay back, but either Dean didn't hear him, or simply didn't listen, since he didn't even slow down, getting in the cave and calling out Sammy's name. Reckless. Very reckless.

John followed his son into the cave, his gun drawn and ready. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the cave. He fumbled through his pockets, reaching for the flashlight, never lowering his gun or his guard. Dean held up his lighter, reaching deeper into the dark, damp cave, and John followed him quickly, putting his hand on his older son's shoulder.

"Careful!" he cautioned. Dean nodded, letting his father take the lead. John turned quickly when he heard Dean gasp. "Dean?"

"I'm fine, I just slipped." Dean said through gritted teeth. John aimed the flashlight at his son's face and Dean shielded his eyes.

"Why won't you wait outside, Dean? I'll take care of it." John said. The wound on the side of Dean's head was still bleeding, the blood trickling down Dean's cheek. Dean didn't say anything. He simply walked past his father and continued deeper down the cave. John stopped him. "Stay behind me." He said.

"I'm not just going to wait outside!"

"Just stay behind me, Dean. That's an order!" John snapped. Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw, but then nodded.

"Yes, sir." He said, waiting for John to go first.

The first thing they noticed was the smell. Smoke, with a tinge of sulfur mixed with putrid moss.

"Dad…"

"I smell it too." John said quietly. "Careful." He cautioned again, squeezing through the narrow passageway and risking a glance back to make sure Dean was doing all right. Dean's eyes widened.

"Dad!" he gasped. John quickly turned, gun ready, but he didn't see a thing. Dean was standing a little higher up than he was. Taking a few steps forward, he saw the sight his son did, and his heart missed a beat. Sammy was lying in a puddle, but it wasn't clear if it was another water puddle, or if the murky water was stained by his blood. The creature they were hunting was right atop him, feeding on his son. And then something happened that John never expected, never dreamed would happened. He froze. But Dean didn't.

"Sammy, no!" Dean cried, running forward to his brother, reaching for his gun and shooting at the creature. It snarled, its snout red with Sam's blood. Dean's bullets hit their mark, but not enough to kill it. And now it was angry. John watched in horror as it lunged at Dean, throwing him across the cave. Dean's body crashed with the side of the cave with a sickening thud, and he crumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

"No!" John screamed, raising his gun and emptying the entire clip into the creature, nearing him and putting the last two bullets through its head. John felt his chest constricting, making it too hard to breathe. It felt like someone had a belt around his chest and was pulling it tighter and tighter. He rushed to Sam's side, and was alarmed to find just how much of the puddle his son was lying in was comprised of his own blood. Sam's pulse was faint. The gash in his side was deep, exposing his internal organs. John quickly took out the first aid kit, but there was no dressing large enough. He took his own shirt off, ripping it and using to try and stop the bleeding. He called out for Dean, but Dean didn't answer. John hesitated. Sam's condition was extremely serious. He kept pressure to the wound, still assessing the severity of the injury, but he needed to know Dean was all right, and Dean wouldn't answer. Making one of the hardest choices of his life, John took Sam's hand, placing it over the shirt he used to stop the bleeding, and went over to Dean.

As he feared, Dean was unconscious again, and with his earlier head wound, John got worried. It was harder to wake him up than it should have been, and he was extremely slow.

"Dean, I'm going to get you and your brother out of here, but I need you to follow me. I can't carry the both of you. Do you understand?" John asked apprehensively as Dean stared at him. "Dean?"

"I think so." Dean said slowly. John helped him to his feet, watching worriedly as his son took a couple of unsteady steps. Dean nodded slowly. "I'm fine, dad. Help Sammy!" he said, almost pleaded. Dean was standing up on his own. At any other time, John would still be worried at the severity of his injury, but right now, Sam's condition was far more pressing.

John lifted his youngest boy in his arms and ran out of the cave, hoping Dean was keeping up. Light blinded him as he came out of the cave, forcing him to stop for a second and wait for his eyes to adjust to the blinding daylight. It was just as well, because Dean was sure taking his time. He came out of the cave, drenched in sweat, just as John was about to head back inside to look for him. John motioned Dean to follow him back to the car, and the two started running. Time was running out. The shirt John had wrapped around his son's body was already soaked in blood, and Sam's breathing came in shallow, labored gasps.

"Hold on, Sammy." John kept telling him as he ran, "I'm going to get you help, you're going to be okay. Just hold on, son."

It took John a couple of minutes to realize Dean was no longer following him, but Sam's condition didn't allow him to stop. He kept running until he got to his truck, laying his son gently in the back seat and checking on the wound again. He grimaced, frowning. He had to get Sam to a hospital right away, there was no time to waste. Sam was already too pale from the loss of blood, his lips were blue, his breathing labored. But Dean was nowhere to be seen. Forced to make another excruciating decision, John left Sam in the car and went back for his eldest boy.

He found Dean five minutes later, sitting on the muddy ground, his back leaning against a tree, his head slumped back, eyes closed.

"Dean?" John called out for him, but Dean didn't respond. "Dean!" Dean jerked his head back up, looking questioningly around. John crouched by his side as he tried to get up.

"I'm fine," Dean breathed, too tired to get up. He surrendered, leaning heavily back against the tree and fighting his nausea. "I just need to close my eyes for a couple of minutes." But John forced him to his feet. Even if Sam wasn't bleeding to death in the car, he still wouldn't have let Dean stay there. He was worried about Dean passing out again after already receiving quite a blow to the head. Both his sons needed medical attention, and they both needed it right away.

John dragged Dean back to the truck, shoving him in the back seat before he had the chance to open the door to the passenger's side. John quickly got in the car and started it, driving as fast as he could. He glanced in the rear view mirror and cursed, pulling hard on the breaks. He got out of the car again, opening the door to the back seat, and slapped Dean's cheeks, yelling at him to wake up. Dean's reactions were alarmingly slow.

"You have to stay awake, Dean, you hear me?" John demanded. Dean stared at him, fighting to keep his eyes open. And then let out a short breath, closing his eyes again and letting his head drop. "Dean, no! You have to stay awake!"

"Just two seconds…" Dean pleaded.

"No, Dean, listen to me!" John forced Dean to look at him. "You have to put pressure on Sam's wound. You have to stop the bleeding, do you understand? Dean, Sam's dying, I need your help. Can you hear me?" John raised his voice, not sure Dean was listening. Dean forced his eyes open.

"Sammy?"

"Sam's dying, Dean. I need your help." John said quickly. Dean nodded slowly, turning to his side and pulling Sam to him, putting pressure on the wound. John watched him for a moment, making sure he wasn't passing out again, before returning to the driver's seat and flooring the gas pedal. It always amazed John how Dean would just put aside his own pain – no matter how serious the injury – for his brother's. John kept glancing at the rear view mirror, but Dean stayed awake, doing his best to help his wounded brother.

The trip to the hospital should have lasted about an hour. John made it in a little over twenty minutes.

A/N: Okay, so again, I'm stopping here, but this time not only because I think it's long enough, but also because I have a fever, I'm dead tired and I wanted to be able to update. I hope the next part will be up soon. Tell me what you think so far, there's no cure better than reviews! Also, I know I'm focusing more on John and Dean, but it's mostly because I'm trying to tell the story from John's POV, and since Dean is… well, Dean, he's more likely to get hurt, protecting Sam and such, so bear with me, enjoy the show, and Review, of course...


	5. A Hunt going wrong Part Two

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Five: A hunt goes wrong – Part two

Dean was still unconscious. John stood by his bed, stroking his son's short hair lovingly. They offered him a chair, but John refused. He was too nervous to seat.

He had been right about the seriousness of Dean's concussion. The doctors had also informed him that Dean had three cracked ribs, one broken, along with a hairline fraction to his wrist and a sprained ankle. He was also black and blue all over. John had no idea Dean was injured that badly, but at the moment, he was more worried about Sam.

They told him the surgery would last three to four hours, and it's been six already. No one came looking for him, offering any information, and no one seemed willing to tell him anything even when John had asked. They kept telling him to wait patiently, but patience was never one of John's strong points. Sam suffered a serious injury to his liver and one of his kidneys, and lost way too much blood. He was barely breathing when John had finally reached the hospital. John jumped out of the car, rushing inside the emergency room and crying out for any doctor to come to his son's aid. It was Dean who carried Sam out of the car, but he didn't get very far. The minute the doctor and the nurses took Sam from his hands, Dean had collapsed.

They didn't want to give him any sedatives because of the injury to his head. Dean kept falling in and out of consciousness. He asked about Sam whenever he would regain his consciousness, and John kept telling him that Sammy was going to be okay, that Dean had done a good job protecting his brother. He knew that was what Dean needed to hear.

John looked up at the nurse that came in the room, hoping for some news about Sam, but she said she didn't know anything and promised she'd check for him. She took Dean's vitals, her face remaining annoyingly expressionless. Noticing the apprehensive look in John's eyes, she smiled at him, but offered no words of encouragement.

The cops had already been there to talk to him. He told them he went camping with his children, that he left them for just a moment to get something out of the car and that when he got back he saw them being attacked by a coyote, figuring the cops would buy the story considering he wasn't the only one telling it. The cops offered him their sympathy and wished his sons best health, leaving him alone with no farther questions. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that.

Dean's face contorted in pain, a small whisper leaving his lips, and John cringed. Dean never spoke of Mary, never mentioned her, never asked questions about her. He would always go quiet whenever Sam talked about her or asked questions. Sometimes, John would wonder if his older son even remembered his mother. And then there were times like this. In the very few times that Dean was in great pain, but not lucid enough to control himself, he would always call for Mary, always ask for his mother.

John kissed his son's forehead, touching his arm, wishing there was something, anything more he could do for him, but for the time being, there wasn't.

Now, if it were Sam, John would know what to do. Sam was never shy about telling John when he was hurt, when he was in pain. He was still a child. Whenever he got sick or hurt he would moan and groan, going for sympathy to get them to buy him the magazine he wanted, to order his favorite food, to get control over to TV, or anything in those lines. Sam knew what he wanted, and knew how to get it. Dean was different. He always put his brother's needs first, even when they were both sick, even if he was injured more seriously than Sam, Sam would always get what he wanted, and Dean would usually be the one giving it to him. Dean was never one to complain. He was never one to argue or cry, and ninety-nine percent of the time, it filled John with pride. The remaining one percent, however, worried John out of his mind. The walls his son had built around himself were so strong John feared they might be too strong to allow any bending, which would inevitably lead to them breaking. John prayed that it would never happen, that he would never get to see those walls collapse. But he did. Six years later, when Sam left for college, John witnessed those walls crumble to dust from up close.

* * *

A couple of days after Sam had left for Stanford, John came home to an empty motel room. Dean's car was gone. There was no note waiting for him, no phone call to alert him. It was very uncharacteristic of Dean to just leave like that, just disappear without a word. For a moment, John feared that Dean, too, had left him, joining his brother. But Dean's things were still there. So John did what he hated so much to do; he waited patiently. 

By midnight, John was truly worried. Almost worried enough to call Sam and ask him if he had heard anything from his brother. Almost.

He started making the calls at half past midnight, and was relieved to no end when he got a call at two in the morning from the local bar, asking him to come and pick up his son. John walked there, thinking Dean would probably frown on leaving his precious Impala behind.

Dean didn't want to leave the bar. He wanted John to go away and leave him alone. It was the first time John had ever seen his oldest son completely drunk. John had always known his boys were extremely close. Apparently, he had underestimated the pain Dean felt at seeing Sam leave. John dragged Dean out of the bar, Dean being too drunk to even walk straight, but Dean refused to get in the car with his father. He yelled at John for driving Sam away, saying it was all John's fault. Dean looked angrily at John, saying that if they had just stopped hunting every once in a while and stayed someplace for more than just a few months, then maybe Sam would have stayed. And then he did the last thing John had ever expected him to. He started crying. It ripped John's heart apart to see his son in such pain, but there was nothing he could do beside hold Dean in his arms and promise him that everything was going to be okay, promise that they were still, and always will be, a family. John told his son that it was the only thing that really counted.

It was the first, and only, time John had ever seen Dean fall apart. It took him three days to get out of bed after that, but when he finally did, he had his walls back around him; now stronger and higher than ever. He refused to let John in, and simply wanted to know what supernatural ass they were going to kick next. Dean never talked about Sam leaving again, and John didn't push him. He just wished Sam would pick up the damned phone every now and then and call his brother.

* * *

John straightened when the doctor came in, a serious expression on his face. 

"Mister Winchester?" John's heart quickened its pace. "My name is Dr. Benson, I was your son's surgeon." The doctor said.

"Is my son…?"

"Your son is out of surgery. He's in the pediatric ICU at the moment. I'm afraid I don't have good news."

* * *

John sat by Sam's bed, removing a stray strand of hair from his son's brow. Sam spent two nights in the ICU, fighting for his life. The loss of blood was his greatest problem. The doctors told John that Sam went into shock halfway through the surgery. But he was getting better now, and that was all that mattered. The doctors had been very worried when Sam didn't respond, when he wouldn't wake up after the surgery. They tried changing his medication, but it didn't work. John sat by his side, begging him to wake up, but Sam didn't seem to hear him. It wasn't until Sam heard Dean's voice that he finally opened his eyes. Things got better much quicker after that. 

Sam was still weak, still heavily sedated, but the doctors promised John that he was going to make a full recovery.

John sat there now, by his side, watching him. Dean was sleeping in the next bed, also medicated to ease his pain. They told John that Dean could be released that night, but they allowed him another couple of days when John had told them it was just him and the boys, and that there will be no one at home to take care of Dean. He refused to listen to Dean's protests that he was quite capable of looking after himself. John had no doubt about that, but his children were hurt. All he wanted was for them to be safe, and in his reach. Besides, Dean's complaints lessened considerably when he met the cute candy striper that worked on that floor. John smiled at the memory.

Sam groaned, opening his eyes. It was three in the morning, but John couldn't bring himself to sleep. Noticing Sam's movement, John straitened in his seat, leaning forward and stroking his son's mane. Sam coughed and John was quick to help him up a little and hand him a glass of water, bringing it closer to his younger son's lips and helping him drink. Sam looked tiredly at John and licked his dry lips, resting his head back on his pillow.

"Daddy?" he asked in a small voice. John smiled at him. Sam was still out of it most of the time, even when he was awake.

"I'm right here, son." John said, gently squeezing Sam's hand.

"Something's wrong." Sam said.

"I know, Sammy, but don't worry. I'm here. Everything's going to be all right, I promise." John said softly.

"Daddy?"

"You should try to rest now, Sammy." John told his youngest.

"It came after me." Sam said in a semi-urgent, semi-dreamy voice.

"I know it did, kiddo." John said.

"But why? I don't understand."

"It's evil, Sammy. It doesn't need a reason." John explained patiently, "It hurts people. That's what it does."

"Dad?" Sam's voice was hoarse. He was still weak.

"Shh, son, you really need to rest." John said.

"It did something to me, dad. Something's wrong." Sam insisted.

"I know, kid. But you're at the hospital now, and the doctors took very good care of you. You're going to be just fine." John said in a quiet voice, stroking his son's hair.

"Is Dean okay?" Sam asked. John glanced behind him at his oldest son, sleeping peacefully, with the help of the painkillers.

"Yes, Sammy. Dean's okay." He said.

"He promised he would protect me." Sam said weakly.

"He tried, Sammy. But I'm here now. I'm protecting you now. The both of you." John promised him. Sam shook his head tiredly.

"But he can't, dad. Dean can't protect me." Sam said weakly.

"Sammy," John sighed, thankful Dean hadn't heard what Sam had just said. "You need to rest now. You're safe. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"It's coming back." Sam insisted, "It's coming for Dean." Sam looked at John. "It promised." He said. John froze, swallowing hard, feeling his stomach colliding with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as he began to realize his youngest son wasn't talking about the creature that nearly claimed his life. "It didn't… It doesn't want to kill him. It wants him. It's going to come back for us, dad." Sam said, looking fearfully at his father. "I'm scared." He added in a small voice. This wasn't right. Sam was just delusional from the medication. It wasn't possible. Sam was six months old, for crying out loud, it couldn't be!

"What are you talking about Sammy?" John demanded, but Sam didn't answer. His look went past John, and John followed his son's look, back over his shoulder, to Dean. "Sam?"

"It did something to me." Sam said, looking back at John with glazed eyes, "And it's coming back." He added. "I'm scared."

* * *

John knew what his greatest weakness was. He had known it for years. Had he been able to overcome his weakness, he probably would have killed that bastard that took Mary from him a long time ago. But John was beginning to realize something went wrong with the hunt. Somewhere along the line, someone, _something_ else obviously found out what John's weakness was. Every time John had come close to finding out what did this to his family, it would threaten his children. For some reason, it wanted them. And it still haunted them. John wanted, no, _needed_ to avenge Mary's death. But more than that, he needed to protect his children. 

So, once again, he packed up his boys and ran.

TBC

A/N: First of all, thanks so much to everyone that reviewed. I didn't have the time to answer you all, but you totally rock! Thanks to H.T Marie for the jackal/coyote note. I tried to fix it. And see the little thing I did with the title there? Bet you didn't see that coming...lol. And I've already started the next chapter. It should be... smashing. I'll leave you to think about what that's supposed to mean. Reviews make me happy...


	6. The car Part One

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Six: The car - Part One

Dean was absolutely beaming. His look passed from his not so little brother to his father and back.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, his voice filled with pride. John smiled, his mind racing, trying to think of the right words to say, and the best way to say them, but Sam bit him to the punch.

"What the hell is that?" he asked in disgust. Dean frowned.

"What do you mean? It's my new car!" he exclaimed. Both John and Sam gave the small, rusted car another look.

"That's no car. That's what cars throw up when they feel bad." Sam said, and John had to force himself not to laugh. Dean glowered angrily at him.

"It's…" John tried, but couldn't really say what he wanted to say. Truth was it was a total junk of a car, probably held together by the amounts of scotch-tape and bumper stickers. John ran his hand on the car, quickly wiping the rust that was left on his hand on his jeans. "You had a mechanic look at it before you got it, right?" he asked, getting a glare of his own from his oldest son.

"It's a perfectly good car! And It's mine!" he said indignantly.

"You mind if I have a look under the hood? You know, just to be on the safe side." John asked. Dean clenched his jaw.

"I already checked. There's nothing wrong with it." He said.

"If you don't mind the fact that it will melt in the rainor fall apart in the first traffic light." Sam teased him, a wicked grin on his face. "I think it would be best to just shoot it and end its misery." Sam added. He was only fifteen years old, but he was already as tall as Dean, and it seemed like he was still growing.

"That's it! You're never getting in my car!" Dean snapped at him.

"Was that supposed to be a threat?" Sam laughed, and then quickly ran back in the motel room, seeing the angry look on Dean's face.

"It's a good car!" Dean protested. John smiled at him, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.

"I'm still gonna check it myself if you don't mind." He said, "After all, it is supposed to carry a very important, one of a kind, cargo. Isn't it?" he added with a disarming smile. Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine!" he said, propping the hood up, "But there's nothing wrong with it. I already checked, I told you." And as much as John didn't want to admit it, he had to agree with his son. The exterior of the car may have looked like it would be better to just exorcise the thing, just to be on the safe side, but the engine seemed new and the brakes were fine. John gave the car a thorough examination, finally clearing it and congratulating his son on his first car.

* * *

It was almost midnight on a Friday night, but Dean had always been popular with the ladies, so John didn't mind it when he stayed out late. He was nineteen, after all. Sam came back from his own date just an hour ago. John really wasn't worried. He just hoped Dean wouldn't do anything stupid. They have been fighting lately. John was less then pleased to find his son following his footsteps with the drinking, too, but Dean insisted that as long as John kept drinking, he had no right to preach against it. Truth was, neither of them was drinking all that much. John allowed himself to get drunk only once or twice a year, and Dean seemed to know his own limit, but still, John didn't like it. 

John sat on the couch, channel surfing, not really paying attention to what was playing on the TV. He was starting to nod off, but he didn't want to go to sleep until Dean came home. He always waited up for his sons, even when Dean would stay out all night. John knew his boys were growing up, but he couldn't bring himself to stop worrying, and not only because of all the things that were out there in the dark.

He yawned, and for the slightest moment considered going back to his research, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was too tired. He allowed himself to nod off again, knowing Dean wasn't likely to be back for a while.

And then the phone rang, waking John up. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to one in the morning. _Who, the hell, was calling at one in the morning_, he thought resentfully as he yawned again and picked up the phone.

"Mr. Winchester?" it was an old woman's voice. John rubbed his red eyes.

"Yeah?"

"My name is Julia, I'm a nurse here at County. I'm afraid there's been an accident…" and the sleep was gone.

* * *

John ran inside the hospital, Sam at his heel. He found the admissions desk and asked to see his son. He was amazed at the calm manner in which the clerk looked through his computer, looking for his son's name ever so slowly. John tapped his fingers nervously on the desk. 

"Yes, Dean Winchester." The clerk told him, "He was brought here two hours ago. Looks like he's still in surgery." He told John.

"Two hours ago!" John exploded. "Then why the hell didn't anyone call me two hours ago!" he demanded.

"Surgery waiting room's two floors up." The clerk said callously. John was just about to reach over and strangle him, but Sam put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, come on." He said, heading for the elevator.

* * *

A young woman with eyes red from crying came slowly over to where John and Sam where sitting, waiting nervously for any piece of information. 

"M-Mister Winchester?" she seemed vaguely familiar, but John couldn't remember who she was. "I'm Nissi," she introduced herself, "I… I was with Dean…" and she started crying again. "It was so horrible!" John got quickly to his feet. The woman didn't seem to have a scratch on her.

"What happened?" he demanded. Finally, someone was going to give him some answers.

"I don't…" she shook her head. "We had this fight. It was so stupid, but he got upset and said we should call it a night, so we left and he took me back home. He dropped me off." she said, her words swallowed in a fit of sobs. "And then I heard it…" she cried, "Some jerk ran a red light. I was so scared, I thought Dean was dead for sure. There's no way… I have no idea how he could have survived that crash." She said and went into another fit of sobbing. Sam got to his feet, looking fearfully at John.

"Nissi, did Dean… was he drinking?" John asked nervously.

"What? No!" she said quickly, "He was so proud of his sardine-can-on-wheels of his. He didn't even have a beer or anything."

* * *

The other driver, on the other hand, had three times the legal amount of alcohol in his blood. He barely had a scratch on him. 

Dean spent the night in the ICU, and underwent another surgery in the following morning. The doctors told John they were doing everything they could, but gave him the feeling he shouldn't keep his hopes up. Dean's injuries were extensive and serious. He spent three nights on life-support, and neither John nor Sam left his side for a second.

Dean was finally starting to get better on the fourth day. He didn't need life support anymore, but they still left a tube down his throat, to help him breathe more easily. The doctors were still very worried by the fact that he hasn't fully regained consciousness yet. He would wake up for a couple of minutes every now and then, but he would quickly pass out again.

After the fifth day, John told Sam he should be going back to school, but Sam wouldn't listen. He didn't want to leave Dean alone in the hospital. John tried to explain that he wasn't going anywhere, and that Dean wouldn't be alone, but Sam just used that as an excuse, saying that if John wasn't going to leave, than he certainly wasn't going to.

* * *

John got up from his seat, stretching his cramped muscles and walking around the room to get the blood flowing again. Sam was sleeping uneasily, trying to readjust his long limbs in the small, uncomfortable hospital chair. The soft beeping sound of the heart monitor was monotonous. It was easy to get used to it. John barely noticed it now. Dean's chest was rising and falling slowly in his sleep. The bruises on his son's handsome face were beginning to fade, but Dean was still fighting for his life. John knew that if there was one thing he had taught his son well, it was to fight. Dean would make it. He had to. There was no way John could stand to lose him, too. 

John needed a drink, but there was no place to get liquor in the hospital, and until everything was all right with Dean, John wasn't going anywhere.

He checked again to make sure both his sons were sleeping before he went to get a cup of coffee. The machine closest to Dean's room was broken. He had to find another one. The night nurse was glad to help.

John drank the hot coffee, grimacing at the taste. The night nurse smiled at him in understanding. She asked him how his sons were doing. He liked that she was interested in both his sons. And he suspected his sons weren't the only ones the woman was interested in. John played along, flirting with her a little, trying to get some more information and a few more perks for Sam; like an extra blanket or a pillow. Hey, flirting worked for Dean, why shouldn't it work for his old man, right?

The night nurse promised she would do her best to see if she could find a room with a spare bed Sam could crash in, and then left to her duties. John checked her out as she left. Not quite his taste, but not so bad, either. He started back to Dean's room. He knew something was wrong even before he got there. It took him a second to figure out what it was. The heart monitor. John dropped the plastic coffee cup to the floor and started running. And then the lights flickered. _Shit! Shit, shit, shit!_ John skidded to a halt, nearly missing Dean's room, and got inside. His heart pounded as the lights flickered again, and the heart monitor beeped quicker and an alarm started to go off.

Someone, a broad-shouldered man, was hunched over Dean's body. John cursed, wishing he had his gun with him. He was about to jump at the man when he heard it. Mary's voice. The man bending over his son was speaking in Mary's voice! John froze, stunned.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here now, love." The man said in Mary's voice, caressing Dean's forehead, and the heart monitor flashed in alarm. Dean's heart rate was plummeting. "That's right, love. You're safe. I'm here, like I promised." The man went on, apparently oblivious to the fact that John was back in the room. "It's time, Dean." Mary's soft voice was cradling. "I know," The man said after a moment, as though hearing Dean speaking back to him. "But Sammy can't come now. I know you don't want to leave without him, but it's time." The man caressed Dean's cheek and the heart monitor's alarmscreamed, the monitor showing a flat line. John's eyes widened, his mind screamed. He sucked in his breath. "That's right, love. Time to go. We'll be back for Sammy soon enough, I promise, but you must come first." The man said in satisfaction, glancing Sam's way.

"Hey!" John shouted. The man turned his head quickly, but the light flickered again, and John couldn't see his face. With one flowing motion, the man pulled the curtain around Dean's bed, concealing them both from John. John rushed to his son's side, pulling on the curtain. But the man was gone. John watched the heart monitor in horror, sickened by the long beeping sound and the flat line it showed. "I need help in here!" John screamed at the top of his lungs, his own heart still trying to decide whether to leap out of his throat or give out altogether. Sam woke with a start, looking at his father. He jumped out of the chair when he realized what John had been looking at.

"Dean!" he cried out. "God, no! Dean!" he quickly rushed to Dean's side, taking his big brother's hand in his. "No, Dean, you can't! You can't leave me!" Sam screamed at his unconscious brother. "Dean, please!" and the lights flickered again. And the heart monitor showed one, tiny, sinus wave. And then another. Dean's chest rose slightly. And then half a dozen people rushed in the room, pushing John and Sam aside as they revived Dean.

John held Sam in his arms, watching helplessly as the doctors tried to save his son. But it wasn't their job to save him. It was John's. He held Sam tighter, kissing the top of his younger son's head as they both watched Dean's heart rate slowly rising. Sam hugged his father back, crying.

"It's okay, Sammy." John whispered to his son. "He'll be fine. He's not going anywhere." John promised. Time for work. That thing wasn't going to have another chance to take his son. Neither of his sons.

TBC

A/N: Don't really have any. Reviews are always appriciated.


	7. The car Part Two

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Seven: The car – Part Two

John sat at the diner down the street from the hospital, his journal open before him. Sam sat by his side, looking gloomy and distraught. The waitress came to his table, putting two plates in front of them. Sam made a face. He thought he had made it clear to his dad that he didn't want anything to eat. He needed to be at the hospital, with Dean, but John had insisted that Sam came with him while the doctors ran all the tests they needed to run.

"Would there be anything else?" the waitress asked, smiling at them.

"Do you have a payphone?" John asked and the waitress nodded.

"Around the back." She said, and John pulled out a ten dollar bill out of his wallet.

"I'm going to need some quarters." He told her.

He stayed there for three hours, calling every name in his journal, every connection he had, and every name they have given him. He had to find a way to protect his sons. Whatever he's been doing so far obviously wasn't working. Running away wasn't enough. That thing promised it would be back, and it kept its promise. John would be damned if he let that thing hurt his boys.

At last, one of his connections came through. He had to take a little trip, but it would be worth it, John thought. He tried asking Sam about the man in Dean's room, thinking that if his son knew about it before, there was a chance he'll know about it now, but Sam just shook his head, forking the cold food left on his plate, and reminded John again that he had been asleep.

"Sammy, listen to me." John said as they got out of the diner. Sam looked up at him. "I need to go somewhere." Sam wrinkled his brow.

"Where?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be gone for a couple of days." John said assertively.

"But dad…" Sam began to protest as John opened his truck, taking a couple of guns out and handing them both to Sam.

"You know what to do, right?" John asked, making sure.

"Yes, sir. But…"

"Shoot first, ask questions later, Sam." John reminded him.

"Dad, you can't go!" Sam insisted. John sighed.

"I have to, kiddo. Something's out to get your brother. I need to find a way to protect him. Do you understand?" John asked, and Sam gave a little nod. "Good. Now let's go back, see what those doctors have to say about your brother." John said.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What's after Dean?" Sam asked apprehensively.

"A soon to be vanquished son-of-a-creature." John answered as they walked back to the hospital.

"Why is it after him?" Sam asked again. John sighed. That was classic Sam. Always with the questions. Dean never asked this many questions. He simply did whatever John had asked him to do.

"I don't know, Sammy." John answered his son.

"Don't stay away for long." Sam said in a small voice, and John stopped. He caught hold of Sam's arm and hugged him.

"You know I'll take care of this thing, right?" John asked his youngest.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

John drove as fast as he could. He hasn't slept in days. He was tired, so tired, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew for sure that thing was never going to come after his son again. And there were other things to worry about. Other, less supernatural things. The doctors seemed less than pleased by Dean's test results. That boy had a thing with tests. He hated them. Sometimes, John thought Dean would fail tests just on principle. 

The doctors suspected brain damage. John suspected something else. Sam kept the salt circles around Dean's bed intact, making sure to draw them again every time the cleaners left the room.

John's heart nearly stopped when he came in Dean's room to find an old man lying in the bed. He grabbed the first nurse that crossed his way, and nearly cried in relief when she told him Dean's been moved from the ICU. He thanked the nurse for showing him where they moved his son.

It was a just after six in the morning. John watched his sons sleep, and kept thinking that it wasn't supposed to be like that. It wasn't supposed to be so hard. He still remembered Dean from before Mary had died. He doubted if that innocent little boy even existed anymore. And Sammy… John sighed. Sammy never had a real home in his life. This wasn't what he wanted for his sons. But at least, finally, he could protect them better.

He stroked Dean's cheek, relieved to see the tube gone from his throat. Dean stirred at the touch, but didn't wake up. Just as well, John thought, reaching in his pocket and taking out a necklace. This was the reason for his little trip. He carefully put it around Dean's neck. The guy he got it from promised it would shield his son from the eyes of his pursuer, make Dean invisible to the evil that seemed to be watching his every step.

"Dad?"

"Hi, Sammy." John smiled tiredly at him.

"When did you get back?" Sam asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Just now." John answered. "How is he?" Sam came to his feet, glancing at his brother.

"Annoying." He said, and John smiled. Annoying was good.

"He woke up?" Sam nodded.

"Just after you left." He said. "It was a little weird." John looked at him.

"Weird how?" he demanded. Sam shrugged.

"I overheard the doctors saying that he probably won't wake up, that he'll never be the same." Sam started and John looked apprehensively at Dean. "I thought, hey, so maybe he'll stop being so cocky, but he hasn't. He's worse." Sam grumbled. A small smile flashed on John's lips, but quickly vanished. He looked at Sam, still waiting for an answer to his question. Sam sighed. "There was something here." Sam said, and John's heart rate doubled.

"What?" Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't see a thing. I just felt… I don't know, strange. Good." He said, staring blankly for a moment. John had to call his name to get him to focus again. "I don't know." Sam said again. "He was doing really bad, and then… he wasn't anymore. He was okay." Sam finished.

"Just like that?" John asked, raising a brow.

"With the flickering lights, and the scraping sounds and all that other stuff. Oh, and the salt was gone." Sam said, scratching his head. John stared intently at him.

"What do you mean the salt was gone?" he demanded. Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. I was standing right there. It was there one moment, and then it wasn't. Like it melted or something. And the room got real hot all of a sudden. I was going to check it out but…"

"But what, Sam?" John demanded. Sam looked at Dean and didn't answer. "Sammy?" Sam took a deep breath.

"I think I heard mom." Sam said in a small voice, not looking at his father. "She told Dean it wasn't the right time. That he had to stay with me a little while longer, and that she'll be back for him when the time was right." Sam's voice was barely audible. John's heart raced. "I think mom told him it was okay to wake up."

"And that's when he woke up?" John asked, and Sam nodded, and then looked up at his father.

"Dad?" John looked at him questioningly. "Do you think… You think mom was really here? That she's watching over us?" Sam asked in a strangled voice.

John hesitated for a long moment. "I do." he said at last. He didn't have the heart to tell his son the truth.

"Hey, would you be quiet? Some people are trying to sleep, you know!" John nearly screamed in joy at the sound of his son's voice. He reached over and caressed Dean's cheek, and Dean opened his eyes. "Dad." He said, and closed his eyes again, too tired to keep them open. "You got the job done?" he asked in a small voice. There was no resentment in his son's voice, no accusation, just genuine interest, and John couldn't help thinking again that his boys deserved much more than that.

"Even better." John said, "I got something for you."

"Does it come in a disposable package and says extra cheese on top?" Dean asked, opening one eye, "Hospital food sucks!" John laughed.

* * *

Dean was doing considerably better. The doctors told John that he would probably be released from the hospital in a few days, but John still had the feeling Sam was keeping something from him. Sam seemed a little embarrassed when he called him on it. 

"What is it, kiddo?" John asked, and Sam wouldn't even look at him.

"I couldn't do it." He said at last in a tiny voice.

"Do what?" John inquired, and Sam squirmed.

"He keeps talking about that damn car," Sam said, trying to both catch and avoid his father's stare. "I couldn't… I didn't have the heart to tell him that its… well, resting in pieces…" John smiled. But apparently, Sam was right. John thought that Dean would be a little upset about losing the car, but Dean was pissed off. John thought it was lucky the other driver wasn't there, or he would have taken a trip of his own to the ICU.

Seeing Dean was doing better, John forced Sam to get back to school, and he himself returned to the job of exorcising an extremely mad ex-boyfriend who insisted on trying to run his ex-girlfriend over with his classic, black '67 Impala, and a work of art at that. The boyfriend had died in a car accident, falling off a cliff, and the body was never recovered. He would have to find it and torch the bones, but first, John went to check on Dean at the hospital.

Dean was in a bad mood. He was depressed about losing the first car he'd ever owned just a couple of weeks after he had gotten it. John suspected there was more to it than that, that the car was more than just a car to his son, but whenever he had tried talking to Dean about it, he would make some stupid joke and change the subject. Another thing that belonged to that one percent that made John so worried about his son.

"Here, I brought you some contraband." John said, sitting at the edge of his older son's bed and handing him the burger. Dean thanked him, grinning, and quickly started on the burger. John watched him carefully. The bruises were almost gone, and it seemed he was feeling much better, but something still bothered John, something was still wrong. "Hey, where's the necklace I gave you?" John asked, realizing all of a sudden that Dean wasn't wearing it.

"Oh, I took it off." Dean said, finishing the burger in two quick more bites. John frowned.

"Put it back on." He said gruffly. Dean looked at him. It was a cool necklace, but still…

"But it's choking." He said, looking up at his dad.

"You'll get used to it," John said authoritatively, "put it back on!"

"But, dad,"

"Put-it-back-on!" John said, emphasizing every word, almost raising his voice. Dean looked at him questioningly, but his look showed no room for compromise.

"Yes, sir." Dean said, grimacing as he turned over to the little table beside his bed and took the necklace, putting it around his neck. John helped him with the latch.

"Dean, you have to listen to me." John said, his voice softer now. "This necklace, it's important. You have to promise me that you'll never _ever_ take it off." He said, looking intently at Dean. Dean looked questioningly at him, but John couldn't bring himself to answer his unasked question. Dean gave a slight nod.

"Yes, sir." He said. John smiled faintly at his son.

"Good. Now I'm going to take care of some business. I'll be back tomorrow, first thing."

"Yes, sir."

"Try to get some rest, would you, kiddo?" John looked over his shoulder to see what his son was looking at and sighed. She was cute, but much too old for his nineteen year old son. She, however, didn't seem to think so. She waved, winking at Dean, who smirked at her. "Dean…" John sighed again. "Just get some rest." He said again, and then left.

* * *

A few days later Dean was finally released from the hospital. Sam couldn't understand how someone who had just spent almost three weeks in the hospital because of a stupid car could possibly still be angry the damn thing was gone. 

"Oh, come on, Dean." Sam said as he helped his brother to the elevator. "Dad's getting you another car, you know. It's waiting for you right outside." He said, trying his best not to sound as envy as he felt. He had seen the car. He might have considered getting in a car crash himself for a sweet ride like that.

"I don't want another car, I want my car!" Dean snapped crankily.

"You can get a better car if you built it out of Lego bricks!" Sam noted. Dean glowered at him.

"Oh, yeah, what would you know? You don't even have a license!"

"I've been driving since I was thirteen!" Sam reminded him indignantly.

"Whatever, dude."

John waited nervously by the car, waiting anxiously to see his son's reaction. He couldn't believe it himself. The woman sold him the car for practically nothing. She was definitely unaware of its real value. John figured that if he were the woman's ex-boyfriend and he had seen her sell the car like that, he'd probably haunt her, too. John smiled at Dean as he came out of the hospital. The look on Dean's face was priceless. John's chest burst with pure joy. He didn't get to have many moments like these.

"Hey, kiddo. What do you say we take your new car for a ride?" he asked, tossing Dean the keys. Dean nearly missed them. He blinked, looking questioningly at his father. If that was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. John's smile widened.

"Come on, dufus, I've been dying to get in that car, but dad said I couldn't until you did." Sam said eagerly. But Dean was in no hurry. He walked slowly, unsteadily, to the Impala, running his hands over the new finish, and then looked up at John.

"There's no way we can afford it." He said.

"Sammy can have it if you don't want it." John teased him. Dean looked back at the car. The look on his face told John all he needed to know. It was love at first sight.

A/N: Okay, I must admit, these last couple of chapters were definitely my favorites, but this story is quickly coming to an end. Two more chapters left to be written, so I'll go work on it, and you start with the much anticipated reviews. I promise, if it hits 55 reviews with this chapter, I'll stay up all night so I could update it as soon as tomorrow. Deal?


	8. The distance Part One

A/N: Spoiler warning – spoilers from "Shadow" (and the pilot, I guess), which make me repeat my claim that these are not my characters, I'm just having a bit of harmless, profit-free fun with them.

Also, a little playing around with the timeline, but I think it's not too messy, or at least, I hope so.

A/N #2: I think there's something wrong with my mail, because I didn't get any alerts or any mail messages myself. I'm trying to have it fixed, but in the meantime, thanks a lot for all the reviews, and sorry I didn't reply. I actually finished the story, now all that's left is editing and getting some more internet time... So, read, enjoy, and keep reviewing!

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Eight: The distance – Part One

John Winchester sat on the bed, his hands still shaking. He forced himself to his feet, walking heavily towards the bathroom. He frowned at the sight of himself in the mirror. He would definitely require some stitching. He hated to do that by himself. It always turned out too messy. He looked closer at the cuts on his face and hands. No, he had no choice, he had to stitch those up. He took the first aid kit out of his duffle bag and heaved a long sigh. They were right there, right next to him. He held them in his arms again. That hurt much more than the stitches. He nearly cried when they walked in that motel room. They were so close, for the first time in what seemed like forever, they were in his reach. And Sammy was there.

To hold him again, the both of them… Just the thought made John tear up again. He quickly ran his hand over his eyes, wiping the tears away. The look Dean gave him when he told him he had to leave without them… The boy was barely standing, and he was telling him they would be alright? And Sammy… Sammy begged him not to go. It tore his heart apart. It hurt so much more than anything those Daevas had done to him. Leaving his boys again… But he had to.

He knew, when he got Dean's message, that he shouldn't go, but he couldn't help himself. It was a trap, he knew it, he could taste it. The only thing he didn't know for sure was if the trap was just for him, or if it was meant for his sons, too. That, he couldn't risk.

John knew leaving again was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. He had to do it. For Mary. For his boys. He had to leave, so that they would be safe. He just hoped that it would work, that he had pissed the demon off enough for it to follow John, and not his boys. John cleared his throat, looking at the first aid kit. God, he needed a drink.

* * *

John walked slowly into the boys' room. Dean was there alone, sitting on his bed with his back turned to John as he cleaned his guns. Sam was sitting in the tiny kitchen of their tiny apartment, working hard on the last of his homework. Dean straightened at the sound of the nearing footsteps, but didn't stop working. He could always tell when it was one of his family members, as opposed to a threat. John sat down on Sam's bed, looking at his son work for a long moment, saying nothing. 

"Aren't you supposed to be graduating sometime soon?" John asked at last. Dean looked up, looking questioningly at his father.

"I already did." He said simply, returning to his work. John watched him.

"Yeah, but isn't there supposed to be a ceremony or something?" he asked. This time, Dean didn't even look up.

"Yeah, last week." He said, making John raise a brow. "What?" Dean sighed, "We were hunting that Wendigo." He said, as if it explained everything.

"You should have told me." John said. Dean half-shrugged.

"Nah, only geeks want to be seen in that stupid hat and that stupid _dress_." He said, "I'm way too cool for that." He added, flashing John his grin. John stared at him, trying to determine if his son was joking, or trying to hide something from him.

"So, now what?" John finally asked the question he'd been trying to avoid for months. The inevitable question. The one that he was so scared to ask. Dean looked at him, wrinkling his brow.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You're eighteen now, son. You graduated from school. What do you want to do now?" John asked again, suddenly feeling like the room was getting so much smaller and suffocating. John knew full and well his son's answer could turn his life upside down. If Dean left, Sam, in time, would follow. John wasn't sure he was ready for that. That any of them was ready for that.

"I don't know." Dean said, putting the gun he was holding down and leaning back on the bed. "Beer sounds like a plan." He said, flashing another grin.

"Dean, I'm serious." John said.

"So am I." Dean said back.

"I went to see your teacher last month." John started, studying Dean's reaction. Dean picked up another gun, cleaning it all too thoroughly.

"What for?" He asked, doing his best to avoid John's eyes.

"Because she wanted to know why you wouldn't send any college applications out." John said slowly. He thought he saw Dean flush, but he couldn't tell for sure.

"Like I have the grades for that." Dean said, still avoiding John's stare. Up until a month ago, John would have believed that.

"She said you could get into NYU easily." John said. Now he was sure Dean was blushing. "She said if you repeated some of your courses, you could try applying for Harvard next year." John went on. It had been quite a shock for John to find that out. Dean was never one to sit and study like Sam. He used to skip school as often as he could and do the minimum he could get away with. And still, he had the grades to go to college, and a good one at that. John couldn't help but wonder what Dean's grades would have looked like if he'd actually studied every once in a while. John had no idea why Dean kept underplaying how smart he was, why he insisted on hiding it. He knew Mary would have hated it. "Dean, are you listening to me?" John asked, seeing Dean ignoring his last sentence.

"We can't afford college, dad." Dean said simply, still not looking at his father. John felt a little stab of guilt.

"Forget that for a moment," he said, "What do you want?" he asked.

"A beer, I already told you that!" Dean tried to joke, but John didn't think it funny.

"Dean!" Dean sighed, looking up at John.

"You know what I want, dad." Dean said, putting the gun down and looking John in the eye. "We're low on silver bullets."

And with that, John knew. The choice had been made. His family was going to follow in his path.

* * *

John was pacing the empty room, going back and forth, like a caged lion. He was angry as hell. The fight kept playing back over and over in his mind. John felt angry, betrayed, by his own son. _He had no right to leave_, John kept thinking to himself. _How could he leave? He knew what was out there, how could he possibly leave?_ John cried out in rage, smashing a chair against the wall. _How could he expect me to protect him, if he just leaves? He isn't ready yet, doesn't he know that? He isn't ready to be out there, to be alone! We always protected him, always shielded him… Well, maybe we shouldn't have shielded him so well. Maybe we should have let him see more of what was out there. Maybe then, Sammy wouldn't have left._

It was as if the sounds of the fight still resonated in the small apartment. "Is that what you really want?" john yelled at his son.

"Yes!" Sam yelled back at him. "I'm going, dad, and you can't stop me!"

"Don't you dare get out that door, Sammy! You hear me?" John screamed, "If you walk out of here now, don't bother to come back!" and Sam left. John couldn't believe how wrong it had all went. _How dare Sam choose school over his family?_ John thought bitterly. _That wasn't the way he was raised. That wasn't the example he was given by his brother._

John kept pacing back and forth, his mind racing. _That ungrateful bastard! What about Dean? How could he have just walked out on his brother like that? Walk out on his family? Didn't he see the look on Dean's face? That foolish little _boy! _Those things in the dark didn't just go after other people! He had proof enough of that, how could he leave? He would be out there, far away, alone. Vulnerable! That thing, whatever it was, it could get to him, and I won't be there to stop it! I won't be there to help! _John roared in rage, throwing an empty beer bottle at the mirror, smashing both the mirror and the bottle to pieces. _Sam wanted to leave? Who gave him that right? Who gave him the right to decide he could put his life at risk like that? Who gave him the right to decide that it was okay to get himself hurt, and not have anyone around that could help him? _John nearly punched the wall with his fist. He kept pacing, fuming, letting out an enraged cry every now and then.

And then Dean walked in the apartment. He looked at John for the slightest of moments, and took all the mess around their latest apartment in. John thought he was going to say something; tell him that he was right about being upset, tell him that Sam should never have left, should never have turned on his family. Dean cleared his throat.

"I'm tired." He said, "I'm going to bed." John looked at his watch. It was only a quarter to six.

It has been quite around the apartment after that. Too quiet. But when John finally picked up the phone and called Sam, there was no answer. Sam didn't pick up.

It was just the two of them after that. Just Dean and John. John rarely spoke about Sam, knowing how sore the subject was to Dean. John made it a point to make a trip to Stanford every couple of months, to keep an eye on Sam, make sure he was safe and keeping out of trouble; supernatural or otherwise. He read the local news religiously, looking for any sign of the paranormal and making sure it was no threat as soon as humanly possible. John had a couple of his old friends keep an eye on Sam, too, just to be on the safe side. Sam may have walked out on his family, but that didn't mean John stopped worrying about him. In fact, the opposite was true.

* * *

John woke up drenched in cold sweat. He was shaking, trying to remember how to breathe. The air in the stinky motel room was suffocating, and John crossed the salt circle he had drawn earlier, opening the window and relishing at the cool night air coming in the room. He bee-lined to the bathroom, flopping down on the toilet seat, and washed his face in cold water. He was still shivering when he made his way heavily back to bed. There was a half-eaten burger on the nightstand. He had saved it for later, but now the smell of it made him sick to his stomach. He gagged, nearly throwing up, and forced himself to calm down, to breathe slowly. 

That was one heck of a nightmare.

He dreamt of Mary, of the day they met, their wedding day, the day she came to him and told him they were going to have a baby… He dreamt of her pinned to the ceiling, her stomach dripping blood down onto six-months-old Sammy's crib. He dreamt of the flames engulfing his wife as she looked at him, mouthing something he could never hear, could never understand. That was usually when he used to wake up.

But not this time. This time was worse. This time, he dreamt about the days after the funeral, when they were staying at Mike and Kate's. He dreamt about little Dean, parading him around the house to show him how clean it was, and then telling him someone had been at the house, with his children, when he himself had beendownstairs, sleeping instead of protecting his family.

John dreamt about twelve-year-old Sammy after the hunt that went wrong, lying in that hospital bed, looking at him with those glazed, fearful eyes, and telling him that the thing that killed his wife was still after his children.

He dreamt about the night Dean had the accident, of the phone call that nearly gave him a heart attack, and worse; of the man leaning over him at the hospital, doing God only knows what to him.

It still haunted them. It was still after his boys.

John took a deep, ragged breath. Dean was gone, chasing something down in New Orleans. Sammy was still at Stanford, and doing very well, last time John checked in. The most scary, gut-wrenching thought occurred to John, and this time he couldn't hold himself back. He rushed to the bathroom and threw up.

He sat there on the cold, tiled, bathroom floor for a long moment, the thought still nagging him, poking at him, refusing to let go.

All these years, his biggest fear had been that once he got close enough, the damn thing that killed Mary would use his children against him. Hurt them to get John to back away. But now, it occurred to John that he might have been wrong all along. That maybe the demon didn't give a rat's ass about him. That it wasn't afraid of him whatsoever. That it was using John – to get to his sons. It was them that the demon truly wanted, for whatever reason. John was just the one standing in its way. No, worse than that, John was the one showing him where to look. That thought made him throw up again.

He thought that leaving would be the hardest thing. He was wrong. God, was he wrong. Holding the ringing phone in his hand, seeing his son's name on the caller ID, and not picking up; that was the hardest part. Hearing his son pleading and worrying, leaving him message after message - that was what really hurt. Not being able to explain, not being able to hold them and let them know he was just doing what was best for them – that was the thing that broke his heart. He was doing everything he could to protect them. To keep them safe. He just prayed that it was enough, that he had taught them enough to survive on their own. He turned the phone off, taking the battery out. It was best, at least for the time being. He was afraid that hearing the worry in Dean's voice would make him change his mind, go back. He couldn't do that. Not until he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the demon was dead. Not just banished or vanquished or whatever. Dead. And that his sons were safe. This wasn't just about Mary anymore.

TBC


	9. The distance Part Two

A/N: Spoiler warning – spoilers from "Home", "Faith" and "Shadow", which again make me repeat my claim that these are not my characters, I'm just having a bit of harmless, profit-free fun with them.

Another A/N: Sorry, guys, I've been trying to upload this since Wednesday, but didn't have much luck. Pretend you didn't see this week's episode when you read it, after all, it's set after "Shadow"... Well, anyway, there it is. Enjoy and review!

John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.

Chapter Nine: The distance – Part Two

"_Dad…_" there was a long pause, "_I know I've left you messages before… I don't even know if you get them…_" there was another long pause. "_But, I'm with Sam, and we're in Lawrence, and there's something in our old house. I don't know if it's the thing that killed mom or not… but_," there was another, longer pause. John could practically see Dean tearing up. He could sure hear it in his voice. "_I don't know what to do… So, whatever you're doing, if you could get here…_" and another long pause, "_Please_…" John's heart was breaking at the pleading in his older son's voice. "_I need your help, dad_…"

He couldn't ignore it. Not this time. Lawrence? God, it was the last place John wanted his son to be in. His sons, he corrected himself. Dean said he was with Sammy. He got in his truck and made such a turn it left skid marks on the road. He floored the gas pedal, knowing he wasn't going to stop until he knew his boys were out of harm's way.

John ran his hands over his face, feeling worse than he had ever felt in his life. Not Sammy, too. He knew that would happen, he knew the demon won't just leave them alone. Dean had the necklace, and John by his side, at least for a couple of years, but Sam was alone. It was probably after him now, not being able to claim his brother. John refused Missouri's offer for a cup of coffee with a slight shake of his head. He doubted his stomach would keep anything down right now.

And those powers she told him about. Little Sammy having some sort of psychic powers… visions… John gritted his teeth. Was that what he had meant all those years ago, when he told him that it did something to him, that there was something wrong? Did that demon give his son psychic powers? And did it do anything like that to Dean, too? John could sense Missouri's eyes on him, but for the time being, she left him alone, allowing him to soak all the information up at his own pace.

And then the phone rang. John looked up as Missouri answered. Something went wrong. She left the house in a hurry, and John watched the familiar Impala driving away from behind the curtain. He paced nervously around Missouri's house, waiting, praying his boys were all right. Wishing he got there in time.

"Mary's spirit… Do you really think she saved the boys?" John asked in a small voice. He'd been thinking about what Missouri told him for hours now.

"I do." Missouri said. She sounded quite sure of herself, but she has been wrong before. John wasn't so sure that it had been Mary. He wished, he wanted to believe that it was Mary, and not that thing that killed her, that saved his sons from the poltergeist, but he couldn't get rid of the doubt. He has been fooled before. His boys have been fooled before.

"John Winchester, I could just slap you!" Missouri burst at him. "Why won't you go talk to your children?" she demanded. John looked at his wedding band. He thought of Mary, and how happy they all were once. In another life, it seemed.

"I want to." He said, "You have no idea how much I want to see 'em." He took a deep breath. "But I can't. Not yet. Not until I know the truth."

The boys left Kansas as quickly as they could. John was grateful for that. It was time to go hunting, and this time, he wasn't going to stop until he got some answers. And he had to find another way to protect Sammy. Another necklace, like the one he gave his oldest. Problem was, it was one of a kind. But since when did that ever stop him?

* * *

John got out of the shower, drying himself off with a towel, and finally laid down on the bed. He was exhausted, having barely slept in the last few days. This hunt had been one serious headache from the get go, but finally, it was over. Finally, he could get some sleep. And food. And beer. But first, he just needed to sleep. 

He woke up at noon, and cursed himself for it. He was never a slouch, and he wasn't going to start being one now. Eight hours should have been enough. If it wasn't for his growling stomach, he suspected he would have slept on for quite a few hours, but he was starving.

He had three servings at the diner four blocks down from the motel he was staying at. He wasn't sure if the food was really that good, or if being stuck in the dessert in the middle of nowhere, chasing some demon for two whole weeks, contributed to the flavor. He had hoped to get some answers from the demon, but there wasn't time for that. It was kill or be killed. His sons still needed him. There was no time to be killed just yet. It suddenly occurred to him that he hasn't heard from either Sam or Dean in a while. It was time to check his messages, make sure they boys were okay. Make sure they listened to him and stopped trying to find him. They still had no idea what it was he was trying to protect them from, and he still couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth. Truth was they would probably handle it a hell of a lot better than he does.

John returned to his room and changed his clothes to the last of his clean clothes. It was time to do the laundry. Lord knows he put it off long enough. But he would put it off just a little while longer. Digging around in his duffle bag, John fished his cell phone out, turning it on. He had nine messages. Sitting on his bed, he started listening. And then the world ended. His hands shook violently as he listened to the message again.

"_Hey dad, it's Sam._" Sam's voice sounded strange, strangled. "_Uh…you probably won't even get this, but, uh… it's Dean._" His son let out a long breath. John's heart raced, even as he listened to it again. "_He's sick, and... the doctors say there's nothing they can do._" That was it. The moment the world ended. When everything stopped. Dean was dying, and he wasn't there. His son was dying. His baby boy… "_Um, but they don't know the things we know, right?_" Sam added, trying to sound hopeful. Dear lord, Sammy must be out of his mind worrying about his brother. Dean was the one who took matters into his own hands, not Sammy. Never Sammy. He wouldn't know what to do, where to start… "_So, um, don't worry, 'cause I'll do whatever it takes to get him better._" Sam said, and John wondered who, exactly, Sam was trying to reassure. Was it his father, or himself? "_Alright, just wanted you to know_."

John stared at the phone in his hand, and just sat there for a moment. The recording thing said the message was almost two weeks old. Two weeks! Dean had been lying in a hospital bed, dying, all this time, and there John was, wandering around in the desert, trying to catch some demon, who didn't even tell him what he wanted to know! What if it's too late? What if Sammy didn't find a cure? What if John could never make it in time? Make it where? Sam didn't even say where they were! Oh, God, what if Dean was already…

John couldn't breathe. He couldn't think clearly. He sat there, staring at the phone in his hand, for almost fifteen minutes. There was one more message on his voicemail, but John was too scared to listen. Maybe it would say that Dean was okay. That it was all some big mistake and he just needed some antibiotics or something. But what if it didn't? What if it was Sam again, calling to tell his father that his brother was… John couldn't even think about that.

Mustering every last bit of his courage and hope, John listened to the last message on his voicemail.

"_Dad_..." there was a long pause, but it was enough to bring John to tears. "_Look, I'm fine. Sam should never have called you_." And that was it. John must have listened to that message about a dozen times. He was fine. Dean was fine. His boy was still alive, and he was fine. But the mountain that landed itself on his chest at hearing Sam's message was still there, and he still couldn't stop his hands from shaking, nor his tears from falling down his cheeks. His son needed him, and he wasn't there.

An hour later, when he finally stopped crying and regained his composure, John listened to Dean's message one more time. Much more carefully this time.

"_Dad_…" That pause. That long pause. John knew his oldest enough to know that the pauses sometimes said so much more than the actual words. Dean's always had problems expressing himself when it came to anything personal, and it had only gotten worse after Sam left for college. Those walls of his in action. That one percent that made John go crazy with worry. "_Look, I'm fine._" What else would Dean say? He could be lying on his deathbed, and he would probably still be cracking jokes and flirting with any cute girl with a pulse. But the tone of his voice… It wasn't angry, it wasn't resentful, it wasn't even accusing. Just informative. I'm fine. "_Sam should never have called you_." And that's it. No goodbye, no 'hope to hear from you soon', no 'I needed you, you son of a bitch, where the hell were you?'. It hurt even more.

John used one of his friends to back-trace his sons' aliases and find out where they were. Or at least, where they had been when Dean was admitted to the hospital. John compared the date the insurance card had been used to the date Sam called him. Three days. Sam had waited three whole days to call him. Why, on Earth, would he do that? And what the hell did Dean mean by saying Sam shouldn't have called? Of course he should have called! He was their father! Sam should have called right away, not wait three days. Not even wait one hour! John quickly did the math in his head. Had Sam called him in time, he would have gotten the message before he had left for the hunt, and not two weeks later!

By the time John got there, there was no sign of his sons. A motel manager confirmed that they had rented a room there for a couple of days, but told John they took off almost two weeks earlier.

Sitting on the bed in his motel room, John stared at the phone in his hand, his finger brushing softly over the 'send' button, but he never pressed it. Dean was all right. He was alive. Did John really want to risk his sons any farther by calling them just to hear the sound of their voices? Was he really that selfish, or was it the right thing to do?

* * *

John finished stitching the lacerations on his face and grimaced at the sight reflecting in the mirror. The pleading look Sam gave him, begging him not to go, was embedded in his mind. Dean, saying the boys almost got John killed… First thing out of that boy's mouth was an apology. _Dad, I'm sorry, it was a trap. We didn't know..._ Dear Mary, they still didn't know. The demon was catching up to them, and they still didn't know. They felt guilty for putting John at risk, could you believe that? What was it Dean said, that they were going to use the boys to get to John? John ran his fingers through his short, graying hair. He should have told them, he should have warned them right then and there, but he couldn't. 

Seeing Dean take charge like that, it filled John with pride. Dean would take care of his brother. He would always know what to do. John was determined to protect his boys. That was his only purpose now, his only thought. He was going to show that demon that no one messes with a Winchester. No one threatens his children. Even if it meant his own death, John would protect his sons. He will die, but in his final breath, he will know that they are safe.

John walked over to the bed, sitting down heavily. He could have lost them in that warehouse. He could have lost them when the Daevas attacked. But he had trained them well. He allowed himself to lay back, staring at the ceiling.

Yes, John Winchester came very close to losing his sons many times in the past. He knew there must have been many more times when he had nearly lost his boys and never even knew about it. He didn't really want to know. But the look in Sammy's eyes, the way Dean had looked away, distancing himself… The fact that they finally listened and stopped calling him…

Once again, John left his boys to fend for themselves as he tried his best to protect them. But this time, after seeing the looks in their eyes, after all he had learned about his boys and what they had been through in the past few months...

John could still remember fragments of happiness. Dean used to be so different, so chatty and gentle and full of life... So much like his Mary... And there used to be a time when John would stand just outside their room and listen to them tease each other, listen to them laugh and just be boys. But now those boys were grown men, following in his footsteps. And John couldn't help but wonder if somewhere along the line, he hasn't already lost his children.

The End

* * *

A/N: I was struggling there at the end a little, I'm not so sure I like it, but now that it's finally over, I can finally take those large John shoes off and go back to hating him. Or maybe, after writing this thing, I can't anymore. Oh, man! So, what did you think? Go ahead, don't be shy. Reviews are always welcome! 


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